


Beauty in the Breaking

by goodisrelative



Category: Criminal Minds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodisrelative/pseuds/goodisrelative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Four months and five cases later, Garcia realized she was too raw to help Morgan pack up the files of a killer who had filleted his victims.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty in the Breaking

_   
**Criminal Minds Fanfic: Beauty in the Breaking, PG, M-G friendship**   
_

DISCLAIMER: Criminal Minds and it's characters belong to CBS and it's creators. This is not for profit and I am recognizing no financial gain from this enterprise.

Title: Beauty in the Breaking  
Author: [](http://goodisrelative.livejournal.com/profile)[**goodisrelative**](http://goodisrelative.livejournal.com/)  
Rating: PG-13 due to discussion of violence and evil  
Pairing: Garcia-Morgan friendship  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: _Four months and five cases later, Garcia realized she was too raw to help Morgan pack up the files of a killer who had filleted his victims._

A/N: This is the sequel to Gifts. Thanks to my betas, [](http://pixie-on-acid.livejournal.com/profile)[**pixie_on_acid**](http://pixie-on-acid.livejournal.com/) and [](http://thekatebeyond.livejournal.com/profile)[**thekatebeyond**](http://thekatebeyond.livejournal.com/). I added a bit after they betaed, so all mistakes are totally mine! Also, the title is a line from Lindsey Haun's song _Broken_.

  
American writer Tobias Wolff wrote, "We are made to persist; to complete the whole tour. That's how we find out who we are."

* * *

She saw Morgan before New Year's when the team was called back for a case in Charleston, South Carolina. Garcia spent New Year's Eve counting down the minutes a child had left to live instead of the seconds left before the ball dropped on Times Square. Her cheers had nothing to do with the coming of a new year and everything to do with the words, "Garcia! We found him. He's alive!"

Four months and five cases later, Garcia realized she was too raw to help Morgan pack up the files of a killer who had filleted his victims.

"Hey, gorgeous, can you give me a hand in here?" he called out to her when she passed by the conference room. The killer had been based in Fredericksburg, VA, so Quantico had remained their base of operations. He had tons of papers and pictures to file.

"Anything for you, sweet cheeks," she called back. "I'll be there in a minute. Need water!" Garcia was proud that none of her lingering emotions had slipped into her voice.

Two minutes later she was entering the conference room with two bottles of water in hand. "Whatcha need, darlin'? Besides a nice, tall drink of water?" She winked and handed him a bottle. She heard the strain in her voice and hoped he was too occupied with files to notice. As if she was that lucky.

"Ah, sugar, if you only knew! But, are you all right?" Morgan looked at her with concern.

"Just tired. So? Help?" She didn't tell him _what_ she was tired of. Instead, she changed the topic and nodded at the files in his hand.

"We need to reorganize these files. And it sure would go a lot faster if I had a beautiful goddess helping me out."

"Sweet talker. What do I get in return for helping you do your job?" Garcia laughed, albeit hollowly to her ears.

"The presence of me? You haven't used your Christmas present yet." He reminded her, hoping to turn her mind to happier times.

He'd been consciously keeping the crime scene photos in a pile by him - something he'd file later, once she was gone, but she stumbled into a stack of her own. She wanted to recoil from the pictures – scenes of what the UnSub did. She wished she could tell herself the images were what made her drop the photographs, but it would be a lie. It was the fact that the images _didn't_ make her recoil in disgust and horror that made her drop them.

They fluttered from her hands to the floor. "I can't do this," she whispered, anguish written on her face. Garcia walked blindly to her office, picked up her purse, shut her computers off automatically, and headed out of the building.

Walking into her apartment, she understood why Morgan had Clooney. She could have used him then – so tired of the violence, the gore, and the evil she was seeing each day. And each day growing immune to it more and more. _Was it wrong that it scared the hell out of her that she dismissed images that once, only a year or so ago, would have had her slamming files shut and cringing in horror?_

* * *

Morgan watched her leave, worried. Deciding he could leave the files until tomorrow, he picked up the fallen photos, placed them on the table, and headed out. He picked up Clooney and then headed to her apartment. He wasn't about to leave her alone and risk losing her like they'd almost lost Reid. She was a bright spot for him – it might be selfish, but he didn't care.

* * *

Garcia knew who was at the door before the soft knock and the friendly bark. She didn't want company, but she knew they weren't going away so she got up, opened the door, and went back to her couch without even looking at them. But she couldn't ignore Clooney when he came up, gave her a sloppy lick-kiss, and barked happily at her. She couldn't help the small smile that forced itself out as she scratched his head.

"You don't fight fair," she spoke softly, using her voice for the first time that evening.

"Honey, to make you smile and get you to talk to me, I'll use everything I can to win the battle and the war. You are too important." There wasn't a trace of humor in his voice.

"I'm just tired, Derek." She scratched behind Clooney's left ear, silent for a long while before she decided to go on. "Tired of the violence. Sometimes it feels like what you do is pointless; there's just too much of it." She didn't count herself in that 'you' because she felt her contribution wasn't enough to be considered. "And it's getting easier to handle the pictures, videos."

He didn't miss her choice of words. He knew what she meant and wouldn't let her diminish her role in their work like that. "Penelope Garcia! You do just as much – if not more – than the rest of the team to stop the violence. With all the work you do for other teams, I'd bet you aid in the capture of more bad-guys than the rest of team combined."

"I just give you information when asked. You agents do all the work."

"Wow. You really _are_ feeling sorry for yourself," Morgan remarked, hoping for some kind of reaction. He was doomed to disappointment. "Most often it's _you_, baby girl, who gives us the information we need to have the profile click into place and then again to finally capture the UnSub. Never, ever underestimate all you do, Garcia. It's more important than you apparently realize. And it's more than just the information. You give us the laughter we need when we get bogged down in the horrific details. You keep us sane – as sane as we can be anyway – most of the time." Morgan paused, realizing something. _She_ was the one who kept them sane. Who was there to keep her sane? Who broke the mood when it got too dark for _her_? Obviously, no one. He brought his mind back to what he was saying – to trying to reach her. "Maybe the rest of the team doesn't show it, but I know Reid, Emily, and JJ all love working with you. Hotch and Gideon enjoy each double entendre you answer the phone with." He took another breath and dealt with the other issue she voiced. "Everyone goes through the times when it seems like you aren't bothered by the violence anymore. Sometimes just a break from it all helps; other times it's friends and talking about it. We aren't them – the UnSubs – no matter how close you think you are to them. We _are_ different. What we do puts us close to them, but it doesn't make us them. You do get more used to the violence, but you aren't condoning it in your acceptance of it. And because you start to accept it, you fight against it harder."

She offered Morgan a small smile as she finally lifted her eyes from Clooney, but she didn't look at him. Her eyes slid past him, resting instead on something behind him. "Your window to the world might be your own front door; your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night. That's just about right." Her voice was low and Derek only caught the end of what she whispered.

"What? Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night?" He was confused. What she said made no sense.

"It's the chorus to a song the great Derek Morgan would never know. An old country song from the early 1990's by a group called Blackhawk, 'That's Just About Right'." Her words were spoken absently, her eyes still locked on a frame behind him, but there was a ghost of a smile on her red lips.

Unable to resist the curiosity, Morgan got up and moved to the framed paper on the wall. It was a shock to see the words he had written for her Christmas present in the silver frame.

"It's one of the best presents I've ever received. And I like reading it over and over," she confessed softly and walked over to stand by him. She remembered a time when there was peace in her soul. She had been tired of all the crap they dealt with everyday and a walk through the yard and a game of catch had brought a peace she hadn't felt in months. "Derek, what if my night on the town was an afternoon in the park; my dinner at a fancy restaurant was an indoor picnic? What if I just want an easy afternoon with you and Clooney and a fireplace? I haven't collected because I could never decide what I wanted, but maybe that was because I wasn't thinking along the right lines. I know it's not really what you were thinking with the gift, but…"

"But it's what my lady wants, and what she wants she gets." He cut her off. She was right – it wasn't what he had envisioned – but it wasn't about what he thought she wanted. It was about what she needed.

"Are you sure? It's a lot more than you were planning on giving, Derek." And it was in a way – not in terms of money – but it was a lot more of himself he was sharing with this change in plans. She wasn't going to let him sacrifice his own peace of mind for hers.

"Baby girl, you know I'd never agree if I didn't want it. And for you, I'd give anything." The easy banter was back. Derek was sure he could help her and that he wasn't going to lose her, which to him, was the most important thing. Things weren't perfect, but they were better and he knew how to help her now that he knew what was bothering her.

* * *

To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship. Thomas Moore


End file.
